Controlled Chaos
by Emememe
Summary: During the transmutation to gather the sacrifices, the gold-toothed Doctor accidentally sends Ed not to Father, but to a whole other dimension. Not only have Father's plans been doomed, but have Ed's hopes to save Alphonse and Amestris been dashed too?
1. Chapter 1

**This story is manga based, and begins around the end of chapter 99**. **Enjoy!**

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><p>The streets of Central were quiet. It was the Promised Day, and citizens hurried about their business with their heads down and eyes averted, eager to get back to the safety of their homes and out of the way of the coup. No doubt it was being wrapped up that very moment by the Amestrian troops. Central command must have been well on its way to capturing the insurgents; after all, the impressive but no less deadly display of the Hero of Ishval's alchemy had long since vanished from the streets, dragging its ringing explosions with it. It would all be over with soon, and the whole incident would be wiped from their minds as their own lives gradually returned to normal. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.<p>

However much the citizens of Central assured themselves of this, they could not shake the ominous feeling in the air. It surrounded each of them, seeming to constrict their windpipes, coiling itself in their minds like a deadly snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Absurd; ridiculous, in fact, when the struggle for power was almost already over. Yet this is what kept them on the alert, eager to get home to their families and loved ones, just to assure themselves that no harm had befallen them. Yes, the streets of Central were bustling but quiet, the citizens alert to the tenseness of the situation but unable to do anything to identify what was really wrong or to stop it; while far below their city street, the battle that would decide their fates continued.

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><p>The underground room below the Central streets was a bloody confusion of bodies, ringing with the barrage of gunfire and alchemic reactions. The floors were rendered into a battlefield as mindless would-be Fuhurs attacked the four rebels, thwarting their every move. Colonel Roy Mustang was caught almost completely unprepared as he was rushed by three soldiers, nearly succumbing to their speed. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye found it hard to get one soldier her line of fire before another forced her attention to her Colonel or another one of her comrades in an attempt to save their lives. The few tries she had made in taking the gold toothed doctor's life only ended in soldiers throwing themselves in front of her bullet, preventing any harm from befalling him. Scar's speed was, for once, not lending him any sort of advantage, with soldiers dodging his alchemic right arm at every turn. Edward Elric found himself indecisive, unable to forget that these 'spares' were human, but realizing quickly that simply fending them off was not going to cut it much longer. He swore loudly as the sword of one soldier came down hard on his automail arm, which was raised just in the nick of time to prevent it from imbedding itself in his left shoulder. Before he could shrug it off, the gravelly voice of the doctor rang through the chamber: "Numbers 16, 17, 21, 23, 26…Come."<p>

The chaos that had reigned suddenly seemed to distill for a moment, and all eyes were on the unfortunate soldiers as they placed themselves in a perfect circle around the doctor and the alchemical circle he stood on. With a savage grin, the gold toothed doctor slammed his hand down in the center of them, making contact with the runes.

"It's time."

The moment his hand touched the ground, alchemical energy filled the air, and manifested as blue lightening around the sacrificial men. Offshoots of the reaction shot off into the room at large, illuminating it and the fighters with its blue light.

"What have you done?" Edward gazed upon the scene with horror; what was the man thinking, using humans to amplify his transmutation? Did he not realize the threat of the gate?

"Huh? This is just the first stage," The doctor grinned. "Anyone ever tell you exactly how many central alchemy research facilities were under the strict supervision of the Fuhrer?"

"There are four of them within the city limits…" Ed trailed off as the memory of the incident with Slicer and Barry the Chopper interrupted his thoughts, forcing out a gasp. "No..five…!" He connected the dots, his mouth almost ahead of his mind as he choked out "A five point transmutation circle!"

"The curved underground hallway back in research facility three, that was one of the points in the circle?" Hawkeye responded in horror. Although she was not an alchemist, the implications of this new information were not lost on her. She knew the devastating power alchemy could have, especially on scales such as this.

The only response she recieved was a grin as with a rumble, the alchemical power within the room seemed to heighten. It pushed against all those in the room like a physical force. Ed felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise as the five mindless soldiers were slowly eaten away by the reaction, long black hands grasping at their bodies and pulling them apart. A sure sign of the gate…what could they want with it here? With a jolt, he realized the hands had suddenly turned on him. Fear hit him with an icy fist as a glance down revealed a huge purple eye staring back at him, looking as though it had been plucked from the gate itself.

"What…is…this?" he forced out. Panic seized him as he felt the deconstruction start. He could feel himself slipping away; in a last ditch effort, he forced what was left of his hands together and slammed them into the ground. His frenzied mind hadn't even thought of a specific reaction, his only thought to stop the transmutation now before he was entirely consumed. The floor around him cracked on his command, fractures branching almost all the way to the doctor. The gate's eye seemed to widen for a moment, and the light from the doctor's alchemy momentarily took on a darker hue. However, his effort was too late. In the span of another second, the Fullmetal Alchemist was gone. The eye shut, the hands dissolved, and in the stunned silence that followed, the doctor saw that one of the five points on his circle was now marred by a hair-thin crack. A feeling of foreboding sucked some of the manic glee from his eyes as Mustang's cry of "Fullmetal!" echoed through the room. It seemed Edward Elric had done some damage after all.

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><p>Yet farther below this underground chamber was another much larger with a much more sinister purpose. It was spacious, yet dark and gloomy. Pipes swarmed up the walls and over the floors like the roots of some great tree. In the darkest corner, the now completely inhuman Father basked in the knowledge that his precious human sacrifices were on their way. He had felt the enormous rush of energy that had pulsed through the earth at their summoning. There was very little that occurred in central city that escaped his notice; and indeed, an alchemical reaction of that scale would have been hard to miss, even for simple humans. He imagined their fear if they knew what was coming, mindlessly swarming with panic like ants being disturbed in their nest. The similarities almost made him smile. They were so like insects, trapped by their own humanity and stupidity; so unable to see the bigger picture and powerless to save themselves.<p>

Father turned his attention upward as with an exhilarating hum, the blue lightning of alchemy lit up the hall. It illuminated the walls, the pipes, and Father himself, grotesquely complete with all the bits and pieces of Von Hoenhiem protruding out of him at odd angles. One sacrifice was with him already; who would be the second to come and join him today?

Pieces of alchemic material merged together into a humanoid shape, complete with long black dread locks and sandals. With a curse, Izumi Curtis fell to the ground straight out of the center of the alchemic reaction.

"Mother F-!"

Lovely. However, her language could be excused for today. She _was_ going to die, after all.

A hollow clank echoed throughout the chamber as a giant suit of armor dropped like a stone to the floor. It seemed Alphonse Elric had joined them as well. Perfect.

Von Hoenhiem, Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric. That made three; all that remained now was his fifth sacrifice (no doubt being prepared that very minute) and Edward Elric. Father sat secure in the knowledge that any moment now, the blond haired miscreant that had caused him so much trouble would drop from the heavens, and his collection of sacrifices would be nearly complete.

He waited.

And waited.

…and waited.

Refusing to let himself recognize his apprehension for what it was, he waited still longer. His plan was perfect. Nothing could have gone astray. Sure, the fifth candidate for sacrifice had taken longer than anticipated to find, but there should have been nothing wrong with the acquisition of the gold haired child. He was the cornerstone that had led Father to find two others like himself; strong willed humans with the determination to look the gate in the face and come back alive. Exactly what he needed. Surely he would be here any second.

Any second now, the boy would appear, and Father's plans for Amestis would reach fruition at last.

...Edward Elric never appeared.

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><p><strong>Advice, reviews, and general comments are appreciated :) and thank you for reading!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the reviews! I really appreciated all the comments :) Just to be clear, this story is manga/brotherhood based, and also pretty closely follows the 6th Harry Potter book. Without further ado, here's the second chapter!  
><strong>

On a quiet country lane in Europe, the Burrow's crooked silhouette was highlighted by the last rays of the setting sun. Rusted cauldrons and spare boots littered the grassy yard, which was cluttered with other such debris, both magical and mundane. The air was still and peaceful, expect for the occasional hum of an insect or croak of a frog. The evening had gone on quite the same, undisturbed, except for a loud crack that had occurred earlier at the arrival of two wizards. One of them had been rather old with a long white beard tucked into his belt, and the other quite young with spiky black hair that would not lie flat. They had quickly disappeared into a nearby broom cupboard, and had not yet emerged.

Inside the spidery and musty shed, Harry felt as though he had come to an understanding with the aged wizard. He was glad that Dumbledore had confronted him about what had occurred at the ministry a month or so prior; it was something he was not sure he would have been comfortable talking about with the others before, and now he felt as though he could bear it. He knew he was going to be bombarded with questions about how he was doing the minute he stepped in the house; that was why he had been dreading coming back to one of the places that he felt the most at home. Now, however, he really believed he could march in there and take anything that came at him.

That was, of course, before they stepped out of the broom cupboard and were confronted with a wounded blond teenager falling out of the sky.

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><p>Edward Elric was panicking.<p>

When he had attempted to stop the doctor's transmutation back in the bowels of Central Command, he had only thought of _stopping it_, not the possibility of doing harm to the transmutation circle and landing himself in more trouble. But that's exactly where he found himself, doing who knows _what_ to a dangerous circle and possibly causing himself more grief than if he had simply gone along with it. Making things more difficult really seemed to be a habit of his.

He knew he had done _something_ when he had broken apart the floor; the feel of the alchemy deconstructing him had changed slightly when his crack intervened with the array. It felt like he had been careening out of control one way, and then was violently shoved from that path and down another. Now he was hurtling towards the unknown, but he hoped at least it wasn't Father's lair. Anything had to be better than that…right?

He was currently hurtling through some white space, waiting to see what was going to happen to him. The space around him was bright, almost blindingly so, so it was all the more disorienting when that whiteness was replaced with the blue black of early night. He was subjected to the very uncomfortable feeling of each piece of himself being shoved back together, just in time to be pushed into the air…twenty feet above the ground.

He briefly saw an open marshy plain and a hill with a crooked house, the only structure besides which was a small shed near him, with two figures standing next to it…then gravity took hold and he plummeted to earth with a shout.

Hitting the ground, Ed skidded on his shoulder in an attempt to break the fall, his eyes scrunched up as the friction from his landing nearly burned through his coat. He did not see the rusty metal cauldron he had been flying towards, and so was completely caught off guard when his head slammed into it at full force.

Shaken, confused, and now seeing stars, he attempted to sit up and take stock of his surroundings…only to find that was much easier said than done. His wobbly attempt was greeted by two concerned faces hovering over him and some jumbled words that sounded like some sort of question, before the blackness at the edges of his vision consumed him entirely.

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><p>Dumbledore had seen many odd things in his lifetime, that was for sure. Enough, really, to not be all that surprised at any occurrence life threw at him. After all these years, he felt assured that whatever came his way, he could take it with concealed shock and a wise nod.<p>

The minute he stepped out of the broom cupboard, he was proven wrong.

He and Harry had just finished a long overdue talk about the events at the Ministry, and now Dumbledore could see that the young boy was in a much better place than when he had first been picked up at the Dursely's home. Sure, the dark circles under his eyes were still there, and he did look rather underfed, (Molly would throw a fit) but it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, lending him a new spring in his step and a light to his eyes. All in all, he felt that the night's events had all gone according to plan, from the persuasion of Professor Slughorn to his talk with Harry. Now all that was left to do was to deliver the young man into the waiting arms of the Weasleys.

An odd feeling in the air disturbed him the moment he left the shed. There was a heaviness to the air, and an uneasiness settled over him like a thick blanket; this felt almost like dark magic, but how could anything get through the so carefully placed protective enchantments, and so soon after they were cast? The Weasley home had been given every protection…surely nothing could attack them here?

Harry, sensing nothing, scrunched up his face in confusion at the old wizard as he stopped in his tracks, placing a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Dumbledore took one more look around and resolved to not make much of a deal of it in front of Harry. There was no need to make him worry. If, by the time Dumbledore left the Burrow, this feeling still persisted, he would find the source of it then. If it was not an immediate threat, then now was certainly not the time to cause undue panic.

"Nothing." He stated, as calmly as possible. "Let's head inside, shall we? I'm sure Molly will be eager to have the chance to deplore how very thin you are."

Before they had taken one step further, the feeling intensified ten-fold. Dumbledore's head snapped up as brilliant blue lightning shot from a point roughly twenty feet above them. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Some dark magic, perhaps? It must have been extraordinarily powerful to have gotten through so many wards. But the lightning was not all that was in store for them. There were pieces of…something…coming together at the center of all the lightning, forming familiar shapes. A mouth, eyes, nose, a face; a whole body had taken shape now, complete with a long red coat and panicked expression.

"BWAAHHH!"

With a shout, the person, (whoever it was) was thrown to the ground violently, skidding ten feet or so. That was, before his momentum was stopped by a collision with one of the many cauldrons hidden in the long grass surrounding the Weasley home.

With trepidation, Dumbledore strode forth to confront this new threat, robes billowing in the wind and a frightened Harry held behind him. Reaching the figure shrouded in red, he turned the culprit over, fully intending to curse, jinx, or threaten some answers out of him…

Only to be confronted by the face of a young boy, his expression one of confusion and pain.

"What in the…!"

The words passed the usually so composed wizard's lips before he fully realized them. How had this happened? What was going on? How had this _boy _slipped past their defenses? And had it been by accident, or design?

Harry joined Dumbledore as the latter stared down at the boy, lost for words. That was, until said boy started to try to get shakily to get to his feet, only to slump back to the dirt.

"Whoa, steady there, stay still!" The advice was as much for the boy's protection as their own. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

The more he said, the more the confused look grew, before the boy's eyes rolled back into his head, his body going completely limp.

Dumbledore supposed he would have to take that as a no.

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><p>The old headmaster had a lot of trouble getting the mysterious boy into the house, and it wasn't just because of the security measures. A moment after he had passed out, the aged wizard decided it was probably a good idea to try and get the boy into safety and checked out. Not only had he suffered a probable concussion from the unfortunately placed cauldron, he could clearly see that not all the red on the boy's coat was the cloth. Blood was streaked across his clothing; the sooner they could treat him, the better.<p>

Then maybe they could get some answers.

"Harry, help me carry him." Dumbledore said quickly. He received no answer; it seemed Harry was in a state of shock, staring down at the boy in disbelief.

"Harry!" That got his attention. "We must hurry, we need to get him inside!"

With a jerky nod, Harry moved to the left side of the boy, and Dumbledore crouched down on the boy's right. Carrying him was much easier said than done. One try at lifting him was exhausting. Grunting and heaving with all their might, they finally got him into the air and balanced between them. How could anyone so small weigh so much?

Dumbledore felt something hard and metal against his arm, and glanced down sharply. A proper look at the boy once more revealed that his right hand seemed to have some sort of armor on it, completely covering the skin all the way up into the sleeve. In addition, his hand was almost completely obscured by a sword of some sort, attached to the armor and stretching up into his coat. This boy was an enigma, no doubt about it. What was he doing with something like that on the end of his arm?

The attempt to actually get moving was excruciating. Dumbledore's dying hand throbbed with the exertion of even gripping the kid, and the curse was just in its beginning stages. They couldn't keep this up much longer. How were they going to go two more steps, let alone into the house?

And then Harry made him feel like a complete fool.

"Uh…Sir?" He gasped, sweat glistening on his face. "Wouldn't it just be easier to levitate him in?"

Well, that was certainly one way of going about it. He had been so lost in the abruptness of the event, he hadn't thought things through as he usually would have. Dumbledore couldn't remember the last time he had been this flustered, and allowed himself to chuckle at his stupidity. It seemed he really was getting old.

"Yes, that would probably be for the best."

Once that was figured out, getting him up to the house in the work of a moment. Tapping urgently on the door, the old wizard hoped someone was awake to hear him. This would be infinitely more difficult if everyone were in bed.

He needn't have worried. Almost instantly he was greeted by Molly's nervous voice, filtering through the door.

"Who's there? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry." Unsure how to continue, but feeling it was unwise to not mention the urgency, he added "…And one injured."

The door flew open, revealing Molly, her hair in disarray and in an old green dressing gown looking frantic. "Injured? Who?" Her voice flew up an octave and her brows drew together in concern, then crumpled in confusion upon seeing the unfamiliar face of the floating stranger. That changed immediately the moment she realized what she was looking at.

"A _child_? Oh Albus, what happened? Hurry, get inside!" With a hasty step away from the door, she ushered them into the cozy kitchen, the only other occupant of which was a rather disheveled and depressed looking Tonks. Her heart shaped face turned so fast to see the boy, her mousy brown hair whipped into her eyes, obscuring her vision for a second. The moment she got a clear view, she stepped back and looked as though she was about to shatter the mug in her hands, she was gripping it so tightly.

"Is that…blood?" Her voice wavered, high in anxiety. Ah, yes. She had always hated the sight of blood. That was her one disadvantage as an Auror, Dumbledore mused. That, along with her debilitating clumsiness. But, with her amazing metamorphmagi powers, she was more than qualified for the position, and a great asset to the Order.

"Yes, now let's go see what we can do about that." Dumbledore said briskly. "Molly?"

"Yes, of course!" The plump mother rushed past the floating boy and onto the stairs, beckoning to them. "Let's go find him a bed."

Harry's attempt to follow them up the stairs was met with limited success. He seemed to go unnoticed until after the first landing, where Dumbledore turned around to look at him with a twinkle in his eye. "Why don't you go join your friends, Harry?" he suggested. "I'm sure they're anxious to see you."

It was true on both sides. Harry very much wanted to see them as well, but he also wanted to know more about the mysterious boy. What kind of magic was that, with all the blue lightning? And where had all those wounds come from? They certainly weren't all from just landing at the Burrow; much of the blood had already been dried onto his coat and black clothes. Obviously, something had happened even before his crash at the Burrow.

"You're staying on the second floor, dear," directed Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "Fred and George's old room."

With a sigh, Harry nodded and headed for the second floor, pulling open a door on his left. Smelling of gunpowder so strongly that the flowers in the window did nothing to hide it, the twin's room was cluttered to say the least. Sealed cardboard boxes were stacked up around the walls, almost to the ceiling. Harry assumed that they were all for their joke shop. The room felt much more like a temporary warehouse than anything else, but it was still cozy in its own way. Oh well. The mystery of the boy would have to wait until morning. Harry was so exhausted that his eyes drooped as he eyed the bed. He barely had time to get into his PJ's before he collapsed onto the covers and was instantly asleep.

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><p><strong>Again, any comments, reviews, or advice you may have would be appreciated! And if anyone catches a spelling or grammar mistake, please let me know! I try, but I've really never been the best speller in the world. Exhibit A being the mistake in the story title for the first day or so haha :P<br>**

**Thanks for reading!  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for the thoughtful reviews, it's really incredibly nice to hear feedback on my story! **

**I'll be straight with you, this chapter does not progress the story much, but here's chapter three :)**

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><p>Dumbledore, on the other hand, could not be allowed to rest so soundly. He and Molly had laid the boy down on a bed in one of the spare rooms, and cleaned up the blood with a simple spell. What was not simple was the fact that the boy had no obvious wounds, aside from the possible concussion and some shallow scratches on his face and unarmored hand. This find was rather disturbing. If not all the blood on his clothes was his own (and there was quite a bit)…whose was it? And what did that entail?<p>

Dumbledore decided to leave the boy alone in the room for a while. After all, with the bump on the head he had sustained earlier, there was no telling when he would wake. Although, he thought it safe to assume it would not be for a while. With one last glance at the small figure on the bed, the aged wizard made to exit the room, and investigate the strange things that had occurred that evening more privately. After all, the wards and other protections around the Burrow needed to be checked, and more than likely modified, if random strangers such as this could appear apparently unhindered.

As he went to make his way down the stairs, he sensed that Molly had not followed him. He glanced over his shoulder to see that she was still hovering in the doorway of the boy's room, gnawing her lip in worry.

"Don't fret, Molly!" Dumbledore said bracingly. "I'm sure the boy will be fine! After all, his wounds weren't as severe as we first thought."

She met his clear blue eyes for a moment, and it seemed his words had calmed her some. She took a deep breath and started for the stairs after him, sighing as she went.

"Oh well, I'm sure you're right. Anyways, not much we can do for him now, is there? Not until he wakes up, at least."

Reaching the ground floor, Molly hurried off to mind the pot of soup she had been stirring before the whole fiasco had started, while Dumbledore made his way to the door. Glancing up, Mrs. Wealsey's eyebrows went up in confusion at his desire to leave. "Are you sure you won't stay for a nice cup of soup before you go?"

"No, no, I better get going. There are many things to sort out in a very short amount of time, I'm afraid it cannot wait until morning," Dumbledore stated gravely, already one foot out the door.

Mrs. Wealsey decided she'd better voice her concern before the headmaster left the house. "This is about the boy, isn't it? Albus, how was anything able to get through our barriers?"

"That, my dear Molly, is a mystery," The wizard looked solemn, more so than Mrs. Weasley had seen him in a while. "One that needs to be solved, and quickly. There are many unsettling things we must consider before we act, but one thing is for sure. We will need to be careful around that boy. Be sure to alert me when he returns to consciousness, will you?" With that, Dumbledore stepped out of the door and into the cooling night air. "I shall need to question him, as soon as possible. Thank you, Molly."

With a nod and a bow, the old wizard stepped a few feet off into the fields and vanished with a loud crack into the night. Mrs. Weasley sighed and continued to stir her pot. Yes indeed, unsettling things were happening as of late, with more and more frequency. With Voldemort returning, her trepidation about letting her children go back to school in these dangerous times was well warranted, and now a bloody and wounded young boy lands quite literally on her doorstep, with no explanation. It looked as though he had been through hell and back, and he was only a child! Where were his parents? She could only too well picture the panic she would face if one of her own children went missing.

She swiped a stray tear from her cheek. That wouldn't do. These were troubling times, but she had to be strong, for the order, for her family, for her kids. For herself. For this boy too, if he so needed it. The boy could very well be dangerous, but that wouldn't stop her from feeling somewhat protective of him. He was still a child, after all. And how dangerous could one child be?

A loud mechanical tinkling shook her out of her reverie, and a glance towards the far wall showed that Arthur's arm of the family clock was ticking towards 'traveling'. Time to pull herself together. His wife in tears was hardly something Mr. Weasley would want to come home to after a long day at work in the ministry. Mrs. Wealsey bristled with pride as she heard the familiar crack of apparition and footsteps up the garden path; with Arthur's new promotion, the ministry would no doubt be catching wrongdoers faster than ever. Heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects was an important job, you know.

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><p>The world was fuzzy and muted, in more ways than one. His head felt filled with cotton, and any sounds he heard made him feel like he was underwater. Well, that couldn't be true, because he wouldn't be able to breathe then, would he? Proving that theory satisfyingly false, he decided to try and open his eyes, only to immediately regret it. The dim light shot through his eyes like lasers, and he felt them start to water as he clamped them shut again and moaned. All he wanted in the world was to fall back to sleep, was that too much to ask? After all he'd been through, he thought he deserved it.<p>

His sluggish brain snagged on that thought, tugging at it as a fish would on a lure. What he'd been through. What _had _he been though? His mind picked up that thought and ran with it, and he grew more panicked as his memories followed, one after another. The fight with Pride. His brother's choice to stay behind with the monster, far away from the events in Central. His journey into the depths of the city with the chimera, Scar, and his father. Their desperate fight against the mannequin soldiers. Saving the Colonel from his own selfish hate, and stopping the creation of the monster he could have become. The fight in the underground lair, against the Furfur candidates and the sinister gold-toothed doctor who had claimed to have created Bradley himself. And then…

Panic. The malevolent eye of the gate staring up at him. His comrades' shocked faces as he tried desperately to stop the reaction…

Edward sat up in the bed, eyes flying open. The transmutation. What had happened after the transmutation? Where was everybody? How had he gotten here?

Where _was_ here?

He was startled out of his thoughts at a slight cough to the left of where he sat. Slowly turning his head, he was greeted by the sight of a very old man sitting in a very comfy looking chintz armchair, and looking, of all things…amused?

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><p>When Dumbledore had gotten a very anxious message from Mrs. Wealsey about the boy around seven in the morning, he couldn't deny he was a little distressed. Perhaps not for the right reasons, either. He had only gotten a few measly hours to try and sort things out, and he had been counting on a few more before the boy returned to the world of the living. He should have been out for a much longer time than this, judging by the echoing clang that had reverberated through the air when the boy's head had collided with the cauldron.<p>

Regardless, he had a feeling he wouldn't have had enough time for figuring things out even if it took the boy a _week_ to wake up. He had reviewed all of the wards around the Wealsey's home personally, and found all of them satisfactory. More so than that, really; the Ministry had gone all out in protecting the place that Harry Potter was to be staying, and the spells had all been placed by more than competent Aurors. A few of the more powerful ones, in fact, had been laid by himself. There was absolutely no way someone could penetrate the area, through any kind of apparation, transfiguration, charm, spell, or curse. And yet, this boy had. Along with a flashy display of blue sparks and lighting, no less.

The thought of it amused Dumbledore to no end.

A breach of security, he mused, was not something to which this feeling should have been attached to. Worry? Yes, that was appropriate, and the old wizard would not deny that he was apprehensive of what this occurrence might mean. Intrigue? That seemed a rational response, due to the strange circumstances surrounding this boy's arrival. But enjoyment? No, but he could not deny how predominant it was in his mind. He supposed he should feel upset that the appearance of this boy had already sidetracked dozens of things that had to be seen to, but it had been quite a while since he had been presented with a problem as interesting as this. A boy falling out of the sky, with no explanation in one of the most protected places in Europe? Forget improbable, it should have been impossible! But the world had proven him wrong yet again, and he was powerless to stop his mind from perusing the reason behind the madness. He could not deny that he had always loved a challenge.

Popping into existence at the gate at the Burrow, he strode quickly to the front door, knocking twice in quick succession. After a harried exchange with Mrs. Weasley to clarify his own identity, she followed him up the stairs, speaking in worried tones about the boy's behavior. Apparently, near 7 o'clock that morning, she had been walking past his door when a quiet groan had stopped her. Peering in, she had found the boy with a pained expression, tossing and turning every so often. Knowing this could be a sign of returning awareness, she had sent a patronus off immediately to warn the old wizard.

Reaching the rather weathered door on the first landing behind which the boy was resting, Dumbledore turned to dismiss Molly. He wouldn't need her here while he interrogated the boy, and the presence of more people could very well set him off. They knew nothing about him, and so it was by far the safest to assume him more dangerous than he probably was.

With trepidation, Dumbledore reached out to the doorknob and turned, preparing himself for whatever lay on the other side…only to find the boy's figure still prone on the bed, seemingly fast asleep.

Oh well. There was nothing he could do until the boy woke fully. Since he was here, he might as well take the chance to study the boy some more and ponder the question of his appearance here.

He conjured his favorite chair and settled down in its comfortable upholstery. For all he knew, this could take a while.

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><p><strong>This was slightly shorter than the last chapter, but it couldn't be helped. I considered writing the next scene in, but this seemed such a nice spot to end this chapter! <strong>

**Just a heads up, the next chapter may take a little longer than usual to go up. College starts for me this week, so I may or may not have time to write during all the stuff going on. Hopefully that won't be that case, but at least you'll know what's going on if the next chapter takes a bit of time.**

**Again, reviews, advice, and general comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**So sorry for the wait! Without further ado, chapter four!**

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><p>Edward stared.<p>

The old man stared back.

Edward blinked.

The old man was still there.

Deciding that what he was seeing wasn't a hallucination wasn't as easy as it might have sounded. The old man was wearing the oddest assortment of clothes that Ed had ever seen. Underneath the long black cloak, Ed could clearly see the edge of a violently purple and sparkling robe. But it didn't stop there. A tall pointy hat projected more than a foot off his head, and he had a long silver beard that reached his waist. He had half-moon spectacles that were perched on his somewhat crooked nose, and he was staring at Edward expectantly from the confines of a very large and very comfortable looking armchair.

He also looked slightly amused, something Edward thought was wildly inappropriate for a time like this.

He opened his mouth to tell him so, but before he could get anything out, he was interrupted by the strange, amused, and now slightly annoying man.

"Ah, I see you have finally woken up. Your vitality is to be praised, young man. It would have taken most people much longer to wake up from a bump like that, if they were to wake up at all." The man's smile seemed kind, and he reached a hand forward in a gesture of greeting. "I am Albus Dumbledore, pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you are?" He waited genially for a reply, hand still outstretched in welcome and smile still on his face.

Edward was having none of it.

Still reeling from the force of his returning memories, he slapped away the proffered hand. Attempting to swing his legs off the bed in an effort to stand up, he spat "That's great old man, but I really don't have time for this. Where the hell am I?" This didn't match up. Last thing he remembered, he had been in the midst of a terrible transmutation, fighting for his life deep in Father's lair. This cozy little room was the farthest thing from that underground hell hole that he could imagine. Well, maybe not the farthest, but still. This was no Central sewer system.

Something darker flashed in the old man's eyes, and his tone abruptly turned quite serious. "I'd advise you not try to move just yet, young man. You see, although you are conscious, you were quite badly injured. You shouldn't be up and moving just yet." With a flick of the wand concealed under his voluminous sleeves, Dumbledore cast a silent Jelly-Legs curse on the boy in the bed. No need for him to get up and running around just yet; Dumbledore wasn't finished questioning him. In fact, he hadn't gotten any answers yet at all, and that simply would not do. The boy could not be allowed to leave the room. However, this young man was innocent until proven guilty, and he rather keep this conversation as civil as possible. It was best to confine him to the bed as discreetly as possible.

Edward paid no heed of this. To hell with this man, he felt fine! Light headed, certainly, and a bit confused, but fine! He wanted to get up and run, his panicked thoughts sending his brain into a frenzy. Where was Hawkeye? Mustang? Hell, even SCAR would be a welcome sight for him right now. He propelled himself to his feet in his urgency to find them. Unfortunately, he couldn't even complete one step before his legs gave out on him, sending him with a huff back into a sitting position on the bed.

"See, what did I tell you," Dumbledore said patiently to the young man, who seemed to be growing more and more irritated the longer he sat on his comfortable sheet-and-mattress prison. "You're in no shape to go running around just yet. Now, since it seems we're going to be here a while, let's start over. Would you like to tell me your name?"

The boy did not answer immediately, but instead his gaze flicked to the closed door. He seemed to frantically search for some form of an exit, his eyes flying around the room. His gaze lingered on the curtained window for a moment, and his desperation was clear.

"Look, this is important." The irritated mask on the boy's face had started to crack a little, and panic was slowly leaking into his voice. "I need to get to Central Command as quickly as possible. I'm sure you've heard of the Fullmetal Alchemist? Well I'm him, and it's urgent I get there as soon as possible." He had no qualms whatsoever using his title to get what he wanted. Edward figured he didn't play the 'Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People' card often enough anyway; and besides, it had served him well enough getting into the 3rd Laboratory. No one but the higher ups in the military knew he was technically a fugitive of the State anyway, and this man looked decidedly civilian. Strange, obviously. But civilian none the less…unless this is what the generals wore on their days off.

Dumbledore was having his own private realization. He looked Edward up and down once more, taking in his appearance at large. Had this boy just said he was an alchemist? Not just an alchemist, but one with a title he wielded like a sword. He didn't look nearly as fierce as his name suggested; excepting the strange armor he was wearing, of course. Clearly, this 'Fullmetal Alchemist' was one important person; or at least he thought he was. But the only alchemist Dumbledore had ever known was his dear friend Nicolas , who had long since departed this life. He had never heard of any others; at least, Nicolas had never mentioned them. For all he knew, there hadn't been another real practicing alchemist in years.

"I see," Dumbledore said slowly, still analyzing the boy on the bed. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I can't say I've ever heard of you. Where did you say you were from, Central? Central where, exactly? And does your haste in returning there have anything to do with the blood on your clothes?"

Dumbledore saw the young man start at this and glance down at his clothes, pulling his red cloak this way and that to see the amount that was permeating his cloak, darkening it considerably in some places.

"As you can see, there is a rather lot of it, and we could find no such obvious wounds on your person besides that bump on your head and a few scratches," Dumbledore stated softly, surveying the young alchemist over is steepeled fingertips. The boy's complexion paled as he took it in, and he seemed rather dazed for a moment as he stared. Then he shook his head as though to banish some thought from his mind, and when he looked up his gaze was steely and determined.

"Look, it's none of your business. I'm not exactly going to Central for a picnic old man." Inside, Ed was reeling. Never heard of the Fullmetal Alchemist? All of Amestris knew who he was, at least by reputation. Had this guy been living under a rock? Dumbledore's words finally seemed to reach him in that moment, and he looked upon the man in indignation.

"And what the hell do you mean, Central _where_? The only Central there is, Central City. You know, the _capital_. Military headquarters. Bradley's Evil Lair, whatever the hell you want to call it." The old man might not have heard of him, but there was no way he hadn't heard of Central. That is, unless he really did live under a rock…or was going senile in his old age. Edward squinted contemplatively and looked the man up and down, making mental note about that one. That would certainly go a long way to explain his odd choice in clothing.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was reassessing his earlier determination about the head wound. Obviously, this boy was confused, or else very, very lost. He had traveled all over the world in his lifetime, and there were very few, if any magical areas run by any sort of military. There were many muggle areas like that, of course, but that thought was put to the side. After all, the boy had materialized in a burst of lightning and sparks. Muggles had many impressive means of transportation in this day and age, but that was not one of them.

"And, what country would that be in?" Dumbledore figured it was best to get straight to the point; obviously, this boy was not where he thought he was.

Edward Elric looked at him as though he were crazy.

"Amestris!" Edward's eyes studied Dumbledore's face, but there was no recognition whatsoever at the name. Okay, this was getting weird. Senile or not, he was pretty sure someone couldn't forget a _country. _Could they?

Unless that transmutation circle he messed with had sent him farther than he thought.

Dumbledore grew concerned as the boy paled considerably, staring unseeingly at the far wall. Edward seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then he focused back on the old man.

"Alright." The boy's voice was gruff, and his eyes showed the beginnings of panic behind the determination. "Alright, Creta, is this Creta?"

He saw no recognition on Dumbledore's face.

"Aerugo?"

Again, no answer; nor any indication of recognition. What was this man playing at?

"…Drachma? _Xing?"_ Edward could feel his panic rising. He was gripping the sheets, leaning farther forward towards the other man with every word he uttered. "Where the _hell _am I?"

The aged wizard looked on in interest, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hat, then abruptly straightened in his chair and gave Edward a grave look.

"You, young man, are just outside Ottery St. Catchpole in the country of England. Does that mean anything to you?"

Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Dumbledore thought he better give this boy some help.

"Could you just show me your country?" Maybe all they had here was a failure to communicate. If the boy really was from some obscure magical community, (an idea that excited Dumbledore to no end) it wouldn't the far of a leap to imagine that he might know countries by different names. The boy hadn't even heard of England, for goodness sake. Mentally reciting a spell, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a large map of the continents, with every country clearly outlined. Edward, not even realizing the strangeness of such an action, practically tore the map from the man's hands in his haste. Dumbledore could see his agitation growing as his eyes rapidly scanned the paper once, twice, three times.

After the fourth pass, his searching seemed to lose some of its vigor.

After the fifth, his hands had started to tremble.

After the tenth, he seemed to deflate completely, his shoulders slumping and his long bangs hiding his eyes from view.

"Edward?" receiving no reply, Dumbledore stood and placed his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Edward's golden eyes, glazed over with horror and blank confusion, slowly rotated upwards to meet with Dumbledore's. His answer came as a hoarse whisper.

"…It's not on here. None of them are."

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><p>Meanwhile, many hundreds of miles away, a snake-like, corpse of a man paced at the far end of a darkly lit room. The flickering fire light reflected off the polished skull-like sconces holding the candles to the walls, wax dripping like thick tears down their gaunt faces. He was contemplating the information he had just received from one of his loyal spies at the ministry (one of the few he had left, after that blunder in the Department of Mysteries last spring). This one had a knack for being at the right place at the right time, as well as for going unnoticed when important information was being relayed. The report was vague, lacking details in any form.<p>

But it was whispered that _someone_ had gotten through the impenetrable defenses that cursed Dumbledore had made for _that_ _boy_.

It was a rumor, more likely than not. A false report, a misremembered word or two.

But if it proved to be more substantial...well, suffice it to say, he would _kill _for whatever ability had enabled it.

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><p><strong>I am so, so sorry haha. This last chapter took much, much longer than I though it would to put together.<strong>

**Basically, I was vastly unprepared for the pure amount of STUFF that takes up your time in college. From meeting people, to orientation, to classes, service projects, club meetings, activities, homework, tests, and a speech (shudder), I was only able to sit down and write for this one sporadically. And then, when I did, I found myself stuck many times in the conversation between Dumbledore and Ed, unsure how to continue. I'm so glad I finally got it all out haha.**

**Thank you for your patience, and as always, reviews/advice/comments are appreciated! Thank you for reading!**


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